


Amongst History and Myth

by thefirstpage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Retelling, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstpage/pseuds/thefirstpage
Summary: Tazivas'Norma Surana is an outsider: a mage, and an elven mage no less. She has only known life in the Tower, until she is betrayed by an apprentice who she had thought was, at the very least, her friend. Upon being conscripted to the Grey Wardens, Tazi's life is drastically changed, and she must rely on her intelligence and the talents of  her companions to overcome the Blight.This is a retelling of Dragon Age:Origins, though it is slightly AU and focuses heavily on the interpersonal relationships developed between the female warden and her companions. I'm writing this fic as I play through DA:O for the first time, because I'm unsatisfied with some of the in-game interactions between characters. This fic includes my take on the way that magic works in this universe. My warden is intelligent and kind, she asks questions and listens to others. She is young, shy, and quiet, but grows into a powerful mage over the course of the story. Slow burn, eventual smut.*Momentarily on hold while I replay the game.*
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Female Warden





	1. Speaking Aloud

Tazivas’Norma Surana’s head reeled as she tried to contemplate the events of the day. Jowan, a blood mage? How could this have happened? And worse yet, how had he manipulated her so, using her own naivety and desperate loneliness against her in a plot to help him escape the Circle of Magi? “Please,” he’d said insistently, pleading, “I need your help. Only you can do it. I need a mage I can trust, please Taz.” And she’d agreed, followed him obediently into the tower Chantry, where he’d introduced her to his lover. 

“This is Lily,” he’d said proudly, turning to her for what may have been approval. The pleased expression on his face might have endeared him further to Tazi had it not been for the sharp pang of bitter disappointed that coursed through her then. His lover, a human, a beautiful human apostate named Lily. How had she been so foolish to imagine that he might have cared for that way, Tazi berated herself. Not only a mage, but an elf, she was an outsider even amongst outsiders. A tiny thing, all pale skin and pale hair and pale eyes stacked awkwardly upon thin, angular limbs, Tazi had long since accepted her homeliness as fact, but still she had allowed herself to believe, for just a moment, that it may have been her that Jowan desired. Still, he had asked for her help and she had accepted, desperate for his approval even in the wake of her own disappointment. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, she had also wanted to prove her own magical adeptness to both Jowan and she, had relished the challenge of the task. Together, she, Jowan, and Lily had made their way through the forbidden rooms of the Tower basement, finally destroying Jowan’s phylactery and freeing him from his bonds to the Circle of Magi. Tazi could not deny the pang of jealousy that surged in her heart as Jowan’s phylactery shattered; what might her life had been like if she had thought to do the same to her own? How might that freedom and uncertainty have tasted upon her tongue? It was too late for that line of thinking, however, as she had recently undergone the ritual of the Harrowing and passed out of her apprenticeship, so she had put her jealousy adamantly aside. 

The Harrowing had left her equally disturbed and exhilarated, and she wrestled daily with her indecision and uncertainty regarding the Circle of Magi and her impending life as a mage. She knew that the First Enchanter had taken pride in her accomplishments, and news of her completion of the Harrowing in record time had quickly spread through the Tower. However, rather than improve her station within the Tower, the whispering and gossiping that followed her through its staircases only served to make her feel more the outsider. Only Jowan had continued to be kind to her, had greeted her warmly even in the presence of others, and she felt her heart well suddenly with gratefulness and devastation in equal measures.

Jowan, a blood mage? Again, Tazi’s thoughts circled around to this revelation as the tan mare she had been provided plodded dutifully alongside the black stallion of the Grey Warden beside her. What might have happened to her, what might the Circle have done with her for aiding a blood mage, albeit unknowingly, had this Warden not intervened on her behalf, Tazi did not know. Perhaps the same fate that had now befallen Lily might have also been hers to share. The elven mage shuddered slightly at the thought.

“Are you cold?” the Warden asked, his dark eyes rimmed with sincerity and concern. First Enchanter Irving had introduced this man to her as Duncan, but she had difficulty thinking of him as other than the Grey Warden.

“No sir, I’m fine thank you,” Tazi murmured, lowering her eyes to the mane of her mare in hopes that doing so would deter the man’s dark, attentive eyes. As she often did, Tazi felt suddenly aware of the tips of her elven ears emerging through the silver of her hair, and she felt sure that the Warden looked closely at the lines of tattoo that adorned her face. Briefly, she regretted the existence of the sweeping chestnut lines, but she put that thought adamantly aside. Upon her coming of age two years prior, the only other elven mage in the Tower had offered to tattoo her face. Why not, she had thought defiantly. If I am destined to be an outsider, not only a mage but an elven one, I may as well fulfill the role. Even as the other mage’s magic had bit into her face, making her skin crawl with its electricity and marking her permanently with the decoration of a people she did not know, Tazi had felt bold and proud. 

When the other mage had finished, Tazi had considered herself at length in a mirror. A sweeping crescent line now began at a fine point just above the inner edge of her left brow. The tattoo followed her brow, curving around her eye and down across her cheek where it ended at a fine point below the inside corner of her left eye. On the opposite cheek, a similarly delicate line began parallel to the place where her distinctly elvish ear met her face. This line continued, vaguely S-shaped, down alongside her hair line until it met her jaw, where it swept gracefully inward until ended neatly at a point just below the right outer corner of her lip. No, she thought as the Grey Warden considered her, she was proud of her tattoos. Even still, she unconsciously reached to smooth a wayward lock of silver hair behind her ear.

The elven mage and the Grey Warden road in silence for some time, until Tazi’s relentless curiosity got the better of her and she turned to the man. “What can you tell me about Ostagar?” she asked quietly. 

The Warden, pulled from his own reverie, turned in surprise to face the small elven woman beside him. He wondered suddenly how long it had been since she had left the Tower and was struck by the thought of how little she might know of the world. 

“Ostagar,” Duncan began carefully, considering his words before continuing, “was once the most important defensive Imperial holding south of the Waking Sea. It is stationed just so, on the edge of the Korcari Wilds. The Tevinter garrison kept watch there for any signs of the Chasind Wilders barbarians.” He glanced over at his companion, surprised to find her listening intently, her pale blue eyes glinting in satisfaction as she absorbed the proffered knowledge. Shifting in his saddle to face her more directly, Duncan continued. “The fortress was abandoned during the First Blight, though most of the walls still stand. King Cailan intends to use the place as a base of operations, of sorts, for our battle against the impending Blight.” A small shudder ran through him at the thought of placing the delicate creature beside him within the range of Darkspawn, but he pushed the thought aside. She was a mage of great potential, the First Enchanter had ensured him, and she was to be a Grey Warden. There was little good his guilt would do in the matter.

“And what of King Cailan?” Tazi’s curiosity once again interrupted his thoughts, though this time the interruption was a welcome one. 

“The King is a good man,” Duncan assured her at once. “He believes strongly in the strength of myth and legend and aims to include himself in the ranks of the great kings of old, however, and this is both his strength and his weakness.”

“And what of you? What stock do you put in myth and legend?” Tazi pressed. This time, the mage’s question surprised him, and he raised his eyebrows as he considered her face before, finding in her expression only sincerity, he responded.

“The Grey Wardens owe a good deal to myth and legend,” Duncan mused. He paused for a moment, considering. “That people believe in the purpose of our order, that kings of men, dwarves, and elves continue to come to our aid against the Blight, is made possible in no small manner by the prevalence of such myth and legend.” The Grey Warden cocked his eyebrow at the small, inquisitive girl riding alongside him. “And you, Tazivas’Norma? What do stock do you put in myth and legend?”

The young mage blushed slightly purple at his use of her full, distinctly elven name. “Please sir, Tazivas is fine. Even Tazi, if you do not mind,” she murmured in embarrassment, returning her gaze to the mane of her mare.

“Very well Tazi, but then you must desist with this ‘Sir’ business and call me Duncan, if you please,” the Warden countered gently. Her pale eyes leapt to his in surprise and she laughed softly at that before nodding acquiescence. 

“Well, Duncan,” she began deliberately, and he chuckled softly in response, “I feel myself at odds with myth and legend, in a way.” She glanced up at him, seeking assurance that he was happy to hear what she had to say, and he nodded slightly in encouragement. “As an apprentice, I was tasked with learning the history of the Circle, our role within the sociopolitical order, if you will, in order to better locate myself within that order, I suppose. But I am also an elf, one who lacks not only the history and lore of her people but also a personal history, as I have no real family to speak of.” Her words trailed off uncertainly, surprised as she was to be speaking so plainly about herself to this man who was more stranger than companion. Something about his patient manner and his kind eyes as he waited for her to continue, however, prompted her to speak further. “I am left to wonder how one might define oneself outside of myth and legend, outside of history and lore. I often wonder who I might be, other than elf or mage or what have you.” Her eyes met his and the question was plain within them.

“Oh, my dear,” Duncan sighed, suddenly exhausted, “you ask questions to which there are no immediate answers. If you are patient, I hope that the answers to your questions are revealed to you. In the meantime, I am afraid that in conscripting you to become a Grey Warden, I have ensnared you in yet another web of history and myth.” His kind eyes crinkled as he smiled tiredly at her. “When we reach Ostagar, you shall undertake the Joining, and we will see what the future holds for you, hm?”

Sensing the weight behind his words, and his own uncertainty in the face of her questioning, Tazi chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip and reached up to push a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. He had given her much to consider, but more than that, he had provided her the chance to speak her thoughts aloud, a privilege that had so infrequently been made available to her during her life in the Tower, and the measure of them on her tongue surprised and satisfied her. Contented with silent contemplation, the elven mage road steadily along beside her Grey Warden companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been alerted to the fact that I've messed up my play through of the game and have missed recruiting Leliana, so I'm replaying the game from the beginning to fill in the gaps. As such, this fic is briefly on hold.


	2. I Mean No Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tazi enters Ostagar, gets herself a dog.

Ostagar was more incredible than Tazi could have imagined. The ruined fortress emerged, jagged and worn, from amongst the trees of the Korcari Wilds, and upon first sight of it the elven mage gasped in surprise. Duncan chuckled quietly at her awe, sidling his mount before hers as the path toward the fortress narrowed. At the entrance, seemingly awaiting their arrival, stood two men and a retinue of guards, the first smiling and blonde, the second sallow-faced, dark haired and frowning. Duncan slid from his horse in a practiced motion, handing the beast’s reins to a guard waiting nearby before turning to take the reins of Tazi’s mount from her hands while she slid, much less elegantly than he, from the back of her horse. She willed her legs not to collapse beneath her as she stumbled from the creature.

“Greetings! You must be Duncan’s newest recruit!” the blonde man greeted her, moving forward with a smile, hand outstretched. Tazi was unused to being greeted so warmly, and she eyed him uncertainly. Surely, he must have noticed that she was elven, and yet still he moved forward to shake her hand. Slowly, she raised her small, gloved hand and placed it tentatively into his waiting, armored one. 

“How dare you! You dare greet the king in such a fashion!” the attending dark-haired man snarled at her as she did so, and Tazi snapped her hand back to her side and lowered her eyes instinctively, murmuring an apology and bowing at the waist, wishing desperately to disappear into the cobblestone at her feet. While she was not unused to cruelty of this nature, she could not help the pang of bitterness that burned her throat as she waited for the man to strike her.

“Now, now Loghain,” the King scolded, turning with a frown toward the dark-haired man at this right as he reached out his arm to block Loghain from her. “She is to be a Grey Warden, and we shall be fighting alongside one another soon. It is only fitting that she be treated with respect.” Loghain said nothing, turning to snarl at her over hooked nose and through pursed lips, before storming some distance away. Gently, King Cailan turned toward her, reaching forward as he apologized sincerely for his advisor. Neither he nor Duncan missed the way she flinched against his touch as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Please,” Cailan said kindly, “we mean you no harm. It is truly an honor to meet the mage who will join the Grey Wardens in their quest against the Blight.”

Tazi raised her eyes to meet his. Scanning his face and finding his sentiments sincere, she stood upright and relaxed slightly, remaining characteristically quiet. The King flashed her another dazzling smile before turning his attention to Duncan, and the two men quickly became occupied with discussion of the Blight as they strode purposefully into the fortress, leaving Tazi, the guards, and the man named Loghain standing in the fortress entrance. “I will be watching you, elf,” the man ground out, before turning to march away, leaving Tazi with no choice but to follow behind.

Left to walk alone, Tazi allowed her eyes to wander the fortress ruin. The place was magnificent, she determined immediately, more impressive still than the ancient Tower that housed the Circle of Magi, which had been her home for as long as she could remember. So preoccupied was she with her study of the place that she nearly ran headlong into Duncan when he stopped and turned to speak with her. Blushing slightly purple and reaching to smooth loose strands of hair behind her ears, Tazi gazed at her feet and mumbled an apology. 

“That is alright child,” Duncan soothed warmly, and she glanced back up at him with a small smile. He pointed towards a tent and fire pit on the far side of a courtyard ahead. “You can find me there when you are ready to begin the process of becoming a Grey Warden. You may take some time to gather yourself, but I encourage you not to dally.” She nodded her silent understanding and he smiled again, before striding off in the direction of the tent.

Allowing herself to become lost in thought, Tazi wandered the courtyard, looking intently around her as various parties hustled to and fro. “You there!” The sudden shout startled her, and she curled protectively in on herself as the man approached. “Have you delivered my message?”

“No sir,” she murmured, “I had no message to deliver. I am here to become a Grey Warden…” she trailed off as another man strode up angrily. 

“Can you not tell the difference between two elves?” the second man snapped at the first. “This is clearly not your messenger. Now be away with you!” The second man turned and rolled his eyes for Tazi’s benefit. “I do not know how you endure that kind of ill-treatment,” the man huffed. “I am Edwin, the Kennel Master. I raise and care for King Cailan’s mabari war hounds.” There was evident pride in his voice. “And you are?”

“I am Tazivas’Norma Surana,” she responded softly, hoping against hope that this man, this Kennel Master, would not comment on the ridiculousness of her full elven name. “I am to be a Grey Warden.”

“Tazivas’Norma? That’s quite a mouthful,” the man chuckled at his own joke, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. He titled his head suddenly, considering her. “Hey, how are you with dogs?”

“Dogs?” she repeated, surprised.

“Yeah, dogs. I have a mabari hound that’s been injured. I need to muzzle the thing before I can check its wounds, but the damned thing won’t let me near it. Any chance you might be willing to try?”

Tazi met his eyes uncertainly. “Why me?” 

Edwin shrugged. “You seem like a gentle type, and I’ve heard that some elves are good with animals. You don’t have to if you don’t want, just thought it was worth a shot. I’m not too keen to put the poor beast down.”

The elven mage considered the man before her for a moment. Finally, she spoke again. “Alright, I can try.”  
The Kennel Master clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Come with me!” He turned, gesturing her to follow him to a gated enclosure. The beast inside was enormous, surely larger than she was, and she swallowed uncertainly at the sight of it. Edwin placed the muzzle in her hand, pulled the gate open, and pushed her gently inside.

“There, there,” Tazi murmured, not knowing for certain what she ought to be saying to the creature. “I know it hurts, but I want to help you. I mean you no harm.” She considered briefly what had prompted her to repeat King Cailan’s words from earlier, startled to hear them from her own lips. Holding the muzzle in her left hand, she reached shakily towards the creature with her right. The huge dog considered her, tilting its head intelligently and whining, but seemed to wish her no ill will. She continued forward until the tips of her delicate fingers met the head of the beast, and she carefully ran her hand between its ears. Still the dog considered her, whining quietly, but did not pull away. Kneeling swiftly beside the wounded creature, Tazi eased the muzzle over the dog’s nose, murmuring softly to it all the while. Finally, she clasped the device and stepped back, as the dog sighed dejectedly and lowered its head to its paws.

“Well I’ll be darned,” Edwin whistled behind her, snapping her from her contemplation of the animal. “Looks to me like you got yourself a dog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some character development. Dialogue is inspired by the game, but not exactly replicated.


	3. Whatever She Had Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tazi meets Alistair. Mostly his POV.

Not for the first time that day, Alistair ran his hand through his messy hair in frustration. Why Duncan insisted upon sending him to wrangle the mages was beyond him. Perhaps it was Duncan’s way of working to undo Alistair’s Templar conditioning, which left him suspicious of mages and their intents - and rightfully so, he thought to himself - or perhaps Duncan simply meant these tasks as a kind of busy work for the Grey Warden’s newest recruit. Whatever the reason, Alistair did not appreciate it.

While he had bickered fruitlessly with the mage representative before him, soft footsteps had drawn near behind him, stopping just within listening range. He all but felt the listener’s eyes on the back of his neck, but he chose to ignore them in favor of the continued sarcastic antagonization of his magic adversary. Eventually, however, the mage had grown tired of his company, and had stormed away, muttering bitterly all the while about Templars and Grey Wardens and the like. Finally, fingers still combing through his hair, Alistair turned to face the newcomer, and froze at the sight of the person before him, dropping his hand slowly to his side as he gazed upon her.

The tiny elven woman was, perhaps, the most remarkable creature he had ever laid eyes on. She was small even for an elf, the top of her head barely reaching to the underside of his chin. Consequently, to meet his gaze she was required to tip her head up, a small movement which revealed the pale, willowy length of her graceful neck. Alistair licked his lips nervously, aware that he was staring at her but unable, somehow, to look away. Her large, inquisitive eyes sparked an icy blue, and in their depths, he recognized intelligence and curiosity mixed with uncertainty and trepidation. The swirling lines and reddish-brown hues of her face tattoos served only to highlight the oval shape of those eyes, fringed in pale lashes and embedded as they were in a face of delicate, angular bones. Alistair could only watch as she brought her small hand up to smooth a wayward strand of silver hair behind one slight, pointed ear, the graceful lines of her long, pale fingers moving unconsciously into the motion as she held his gaze uncertainly. A small voice in the back of his brain scolded him forcefully. She was a mage, she was not to be considered in such a fashion. 

Forcing himself to tear his gaze from her pale eyes, the questions he found there and the emotions they incited, Alistair trailed his attention to the ground at her feet. The golden robes she wore were clearly cast offs; they were much too long for her, and their muddied hem dragged on the ground at her feet. The sleeves, too, were much too long, he had noticed when she had raised her hand to correct her hair, and she wore them bunched and cuffed around the milky skin of her thin wrists. The garments practically hung from her small frame, though she had made some effort to cinch them at the waist with a cord, revealing her small form. At her back she carried only a simple wooden apprentice’s staff, and realization struck him suddenly in the chest. 

“You…” he began, and her gaze, which had settled self-consciously on the stones at her feet, snapped back to his at the sudden sound of his voice. “You must be the newest Grey Warden recruit. Duncan hadn’t mentioned that you would be…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue and embarrassed by his lack of tact.

“That I would be what?” she questioned, angling her head slightly. Her voice was soft and airy, so gentle that he almost missed it, though her question rang clearly between them. She met his gaze directly, and her eyes sparked icily. “An elf?”

Alistair barked a laugh at that, surprised and pleased by her directness. “I suppose he thought it would be sufficiently alarming that you would be both a mage and a … er … a woman.” Again, he met her eyes and willed her to comprehend his awkwardness. She seemed to understand, reading no ill intent in his eyes and taking a small amount of pleasure in the way he shifted awkwardly on his feet as she regarded him. The wary lines around her pale eyes softened.

“You must be Alistair,” she all but murmured, and he felt his brows shoot up in surprise.

“How did you know?” 

She tilted her head and repeated the unconscious motion from earlier, reaching a small hand to smooth her hair behind her ear. He wondered if she was even aware of the gesture, as self-consciously automatic as it seemed. A small smile graced her thin lips and what he recognized in surprise as mischief sparked behind her eyes. “Duncan said that you were a bit strange, and that I would know you when I met you.” 

Alistair barked another surprised laugh, and the tension between them eased further. “Come on then, let’s go meet the others and get this process started, shall we?” As he spoke, Alistair stepped toward her, and was startled to see her flinch and pull away as he neared her. Of course, he thought, berating himself for his carelessness. She was a mage, and elven no less. Certainly, she would feel unsafe at the approach of a strange Templar and would shy away from his closeness. That he desired such closeness surprised him immensely; he would certainly need to consider this situation carefully. She is a mage, the hissing voice in his mind reminded him adamantly. He paused, and held his hands out, palms up, to demonstrate that he meant her no harm. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes once more as she raised her gaze again to his own. “I will keep my distance, I promise.” She considered him silently, and he noticed sadly that the laughter and mischief that had danced in her eyes moments earlier had been replaced by mistrust and uncertainty. She nodded affirmation, however, and moved silently to fall into step beside him as they moved back across the courtyard, toward Duncan’s tent. He noticed that she bunched the cloth of her robes in her small hands in an effort to avoid trodding on them as she walked, and he made a note to ask Duncan about finding her new robes following her Joining. If she survived the Joining, a cruel voice flitted across his mind, but he pushed it forcefully away. Surely this woman had survived worse than the Joining.

They walked in silence for a moment, and when he turned to speak to her again, he was surprised to find that she had fallen behind him. He cursed his thoughtlessness again, deliberately slowing his pace to match her own, much shorter stride. She nodded her head in thanks, though she kept her eyes mostly on the ground before her. “Duncan’s message spoke warmly of you,” Alistair told her in an effort to fill the silence, willing her to warm to him again. 

She glanced up at him, surprised. “Really?” she breathed.

He nodded firmly. “Yes, he said that you were a mage of great promise, that you had recently passed your … Harrowing is it?” he looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded again. “He said that you had recently passed your Harrowing in record time. He said the First Enchanter was particularly proud of you.” Alistair took a distinct pleasure in the purple-tinged blush that spread up her graceful neck, even as she kept her gaze fixed determinedly on the ground before her. He waited a moment for her to speak, but when she said nothing in response he continued resolutely. 

“I suppose I should not be surprised that you are so young,” Alistair mused aloud, “but I admit that you are not at all what I had expected.” The glance she shot him at that was sharp and laced with defiance, and he chuckled softly at her expense, noting the spread of her blush as he did. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I am ten and nine seasons,” she stated softly, lifting her eyes to his as though daring him to laugh at her again. “I may be young, but I am a Mage of the Circle, and soon I will be a Grey Warden. I will not be made a joke to you.”

Alistair raised his hands again, palm up in apology, and her eyes softened once more. “Why,” she asked him, returning his curiosity with her own, “how old are you?”

He laughed again, a quick, sharp sound that she had already come to recognize as surprise. “I am twenty-one seasons,” he responded. “Not so much older than you, really.” His smile this time was warm, and she startled at the way its warmth seemed to pool in her belly. Suddenly his face fell, and he stopped, turning abruptly to face her. She stopped as well, orienting toward him, and had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. She was sure that he could read curiosity and uncertainty in her face at his sudden change of demeanor.

“Well, I am a righteous fool,” he groaned, his shoulders sagging as he looked at her. “You know my name, but it at no point occurred to me to ask you yours. Please, forgive me.” She was surprised by the way his face fell in shame at the revelation, and the sudden urge to reach up and touch her hand to his cheek danced through her mind, startling her at its suddenness. Instead, she kept her hands clenched tightly in the skirts of her robes while she met his eyes. She hoped that he would see forgiveness and understanding there. 

“I am Tazivas’Norma Surana,” she murmured softly, dropping into a curtsey that felt clumsy as she clutched at the folds of her robes, “but you may call me Tazi.” She waited anxiously for what she was certain would be a snide remark about her ridiculously elven name, but when none came, she lifted her eyes again to his. Tilting her head back to peer up at him made her acutely aware of her small size, and she shivered slightly at the feeling of vulnerability that moved down her spine like ice. Upon raising her eyes to his, she was surprised to find that, rather than mocking or snide, his eyes were soft and his gaze gentle.

“That is a beautiful name,” he breathed quietly, before turning quickly, embarrassed, to stride purposefully towards Duncan’s tent. Tazi followed him, allowing her eyes to linger thoughtfully on the width of his shoulders under his armour and the long, purposeful gait of his legs. Whatever she had expected when Duncan had conscripted her, it had certainly not been Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on the first meeting between the Warden and Alistair.


	4. At the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tazi and Alistair come together to mourn Duncan.

Tazi awoke from her nightmare with a gasp, shooting upright and smacking her forehead against the poles of her small camp tent. Groaning, she brought hand to her forehead and laid back down, turning onto her side and willing her memories of the weeks past, the fodder for her nightmares, to subside. They would not. She heard Reginold, her mabari hound, whine outside the tent, and she hushed the beast softly through the canvas. She, the hound, and Alistair were all that remained of the camp at Ostagar, and the thought make her chest clench and her heart ache. Duncan, her mind whispered, I am so sorry…

The young elven mage inhaled deeply and released her breath through clenched teeth. This time, she had been dreaming of the Joining. She had returned with her companions from the Korcari Wilds feeling cautiously optimistic. The men, Alistair and the other recruits, had regarded her with deference and respect. She could still feel the jolt of power in her fingertips as she recalled her first encounter with a darkspawn. The thing had turned its vile gaze upon her, and she had frozen momentarily, before allowing her Magi instinct to take hold. Hardly thinking, she had reached palm and staff into the air, channeling from it static and shock, mingling the electricity she had drawn from the air around her with her derision for the foul creature before her. The thing howled as her bolts erupted from the staff and collided with it, and it collapsed shuddering at her feet. Looking up, she had found Alistair watching her with a quirked eyebrow and a small grin. “That’s one way to kill a darkspawn,” he had chuckled, and she had smiled tentatively up at him in return. 

Upon their return to the camp, Duncan had led the motley crew to an abandoned section of the Ostagar ruin. His mood had been dark and his words cryptic, and when she had looked to Alistair for comfort, he had deliberately avoided her gaze, angling his head upwards instead to watch a hawk circling lazily overhead. Dread had settled in her stomach.

Sighing, she rolled over again in the tent, nudging the small bag that contained her few possessions aside with her toe so she might stretch her slim legs out further. When she closed her eyes, she saw the expression of terror on Daveth’s face as he struggled and died before her. She saw Ser Jory, frantic and begging as Duncan closed upon him with his blade, pleading for the sake of his unborn child. Tazi shuddered, sighing, and rolled from her side onto her back, arching slightly to work out the kink between her shoulder blades, unused as she was to sleeping on the hard ground. Her feet throbbed from miles of walking, her head spun endlessly with memories and nightmares, and she had not managed to sleep soundly since the Joining.

Tazi flopped uncomfortably to her stomach, cradling her head in her arms to muffle her moan of frustration and exhaustion, and Reginold whined again in sympathy. The dog’s presence outside the flap of her tent provided her some small comfort in a sea of troubles, and she murmured softly again to quiet the beast. Alistair’s tent sat facing hers, across their small fire pit, and she hoped he could not hear her sounds of distress from where he lay in the dark. Further back from the fire, Morrigan the sorceress slept in a bedroll below the stars, having declined their offer to acquire her a camp tent of her own. The elven mage remained unsure of the sorceress, certain that the older woman merely tolerated her presence at the behest of her mother, Flemeth. Why the fame Witch of the Wilds had taken such interested in a newly initiated Grey Warden, Tazi was not certain, but the mage had no doubt that both she and Alistair owed the ancient witch an unrepayable debt. 

Her mind drifted from Flemeth to the battle at Ostagar, and she recalled the desperation that had instilled her magical bolts with frantic energy as they shot haphazardly from her staff. Surrounded as they were, with darkspawn on all sides, Alistair had not seemed to notice her loss of control as he fought doggedly alongside her, nor the scent of her fear as it surged through her spells in a way she had not experienced before. She made up her mind to speak to Morrigan about how she might control that fear, lest she unwittingly hurt someone … lest she unwittingly hurt Alistair, she admitted to herself. 

Sighing once more, Tazi resigned herself to wakefulness, and eased herself out of the small tent. She dragged a frayed blanket with her for warmth and comfort, reaching down to scratch a sensitive spot behind Reginold’s right ear. A soft cough from the direction of the fire started her and she stood suddenly, surprised but not displeased to find Alistair sitting cross legged in front of the small fire in his breaches and linen shirt, open at the collar. The golden expanse of his chest, bare at the neck, danced in the flickering light. Even in the dim fire light, she could not help but notice the dark bags under his eyes that surely mirrored her own. Shifting to lean against one arm, he motioned to the spot beside him on the ground before the fire, and she moved silently to sit alongside him. Reginold stood, positioning himself behind her before laying again in with a huff, his watchful eyes on the trees behind her. Alistair regarded the hound thoughtfully, glad for the creature’s watchful gaze over the slight mage who now sat on the ground next to him, a worn blanket around her shoulders, her knees tucked up under her chin. 

“Bad dreams?” he asked quietly, his gaze gentle in the soft firelight. She nodded, closing her eyes against the onslaught of memory, and her loose hair fell lightly around her face. Alistair was struck at the sight – she generally wore it pulled back in a leather thong at the back of her head – and he resisted the sudden urge to reach out and stroke its silver lengths by reaching instead for a stick on the ground to stoke the small fire. 

Next to her, Alistair breathed a shuddering sigh, and Tazi tilted her head slightly to consider the man beside her from the corner of her eye. It occurred to her suddenly that they had spoken very little about Duncan, or about much of anything besides how to best proceed with their struggle against the impending Blight, and she mentally steeled herself before breaking their usual, amicable silence.

“Alastair?” she breathed, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers in surprise. Not allowing him to interrupt, she continued. “Alastair, I … I am so sorry. For Duncan.” Unable to meet his eyes as she spoke, she stared instead at the small fire before them. “He was a good man, kind. He made me feel … valued, respected … in a way that nobody had before.” She tilted her head to meet his eyes, so he might better recognize the sincerity of her words. “If you … want to talk, I am here.” She felt that damnable flush begin to creep up her neck, and hoped against hope that Alistair would not notice it in the low light of the fire. 

He let out another strangled sound and she realized suddenly that tears were flowing silently down his face. Unthinkingly, acting upon bodily instinct as she did when channeling magic, Tazi rose quickly and knelt before him, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and pulling him against her. Alistair froze, stunned, before carefully encircling her small frame with his arms and pulling her into his lap, making sure to keep the frayed blanket wrapped around her delicate shoulders even as her slip slid up to reveal the pale expanse of her bare legs. He realized then that she, too, was crying softly as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt her tears wet the shoulder of his shirt. A shuddering sob tore through him as he came to rest his cheek against the silver of her hair, and the two stayed that way for some time, until their tears were exhausted and their sobs passed to ragged breaths. Behind them, Reginold whined in sympathy but kept his distance, and Alistair felt another wave of gratitude for the beast that guarded them in their vulnerable state. 

In his arms, Tazi stilled, and he felt her stiffen suddenly against his chest before withdrawing her arms and moving quickly away from him. He missed the weight of her against him and the brush of her hair and the tip of her ear against his neck, and he longed to pull her back into his arms. That she was both elf and mage had so quickly ceased to matter at him, he mused passingly. She had already closed herself off from him, however, gripping the blanket tightly around her shoulders and turning away from him, her loose hair falling in front of her face. “I am sorry,” she all but whispered, “I did not mean to presume.” Unwilling to allow her the pain of embarrassment, Alistair stood and reached for her again, clasping one of her delicate hands in his own and pulling her to face him. Even while he held one of her much smaller hands in his own, Alistair recalled the power that he had seen her channel through those hands and felt a wave of awe at the contradictory woman before him.

“Tazi, please. You have nothing to be sorry for. I … thank you,” he whispered, applying gentle pressure to her hand with his fingertips, as though she could somehow feel his meaning and intention through that simple touch. It had the desired effect, however, and she turned back towards him. He watched as she reached instinctively to her hair with her loose hand, smoothing it as best she could behind her ears and away from her face. Alastair once again resisted the urge to reach out and assist her in her task. 

Behind them, the sounds of morning birds and Morrigan shifting in her bed roll forced them apart once more. “I should prepare for the journey. We have some distance before we reach Lothering,” she murmured softly as she pulled away from him and moved silently towards her small camp tent. As he watched she slipped through the flap of her tent, vanishing as though made of pale smoke, and he shuddered one last gasping breath before turning back to his own tent to prepare himself for the trials of the coming day.


	5. The Road to Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan and Tazivas have a conversation about the nature of magic.

The road to Lothering was dusty and dull, and Morrigan cursed her mother once more for insisting that she accompany the Wardens on their journey. She longed to return to the Wilds, to the company of the familiar beasts there. Her mind drifted to the small brook that trailed like a lazy snake through the woods near her mother’s cabin, and she imagined how pleasant it would be to dip her bare toes into its cool water. Morrigan sighed, all but hearing the rustle of a breeze through the elms and oaks that were as dear to her as friends. She had not expected to miss them so, certainly preferred them to the company of the two Wardens who trod together before her. She walked, as had become her habit, several meters behind the two. The elf’s mabari hound, foul thing that it was, bounded along at the heels of his master. Morrigan jumped when the creature barked playfully, irritated at the sound, but Tazivas laughed in crystalline pleasure as she turned to throw a piece of wood for the dog, who barked once more in delight before chasing the item into the underbrush beside the road. 

Both Wardens were young, Morrigan mused, but the elf appeared particularly so, small and naïve and quiet as she was. Still, something about the elven woman seemed to draw others to her. Perhaps it was her way of listening when they spoke, considering them patiently with those large blue eyes as they told her of their woes and wills. In general, Tazivas spoke very little, and often only to ask questions of others, prompting them to unburden themselves to her. Morrigan knew, however, that the elf studied people closely, had studied her closely across their campfires. Well, Morrigan had studied her in return. It was only in the presence of Alistair that Tazivas seemed to relax slightly, Morrigan had observed, though she was not convinced the elven mage had yet realized this of herself. Even still, the elven mage kept much of herself at bay, guarded carefully from hurt. She watched now as the elf turned her laughing face towards the young Templar, handing him the grime covered stick that her hound had retrieved so that he might throw it. Alistair made a face of disgust, taking the offending object between finger and thumb before tossing it away as the dog bounded after it. Tazivas laughed again, a quiet, tinkling sound that Morrigan had heard only infrequently, and the sorceress watched as Alistair’s face softened into a warm, adoring smile at the sound. So young, so innocent, Morrigan scoffed quietly to herself. Perhaps Morrigan’s mother had been right to send her along after all.

The small party continued for most of the morning in this manner, the two Wardens walking side by side, speaking quietly at intervals with one another while Morrigan strode behind them, content in her solitude. They stopped briefly at noon to take a small meal under a copse of ash trees, and when they resumed their travels Morrigan was surprised to find that Tazivas had fallen into step alongside her. Alistair appeared to have noticed this as well, cocking one eyebrow in question to his elven companion, who simply smiled reassuringly in return. Shrugging, Alistair took the lead, left in the company of the large hound whose presence, he was startled to realize, he had come to quite enjoy. 

For some time, the sorceress and the mage walked together along in silence. Morrigan was satisfied to wait; she assumed that the younger woman did not seek her company without a purpose, and curiosity urged her to patience. At last, Tazivas spoke, and Morrigan cocked her head slightly to better hear her soft-spoken companion.

“I was wondering… I would like to ask you something,” the mage began.

Intrigued, Morrigan nodded her head in acquiescence. 

“In the battle, at Ostagar…” Tazivas trailed off, uncertain of herself and concerned that the older woman might mock her for what she was about to say. She knew no other mages, however, and her desperation urged her to speak again. Steeling herself, Tazivas continued. “We were almost overrun, at the Tower of Ishal. There were darkspawn on all sides, the soldiers with us were falling.” She shuddered slightly at the memory. “I was … frightened, and my magic, it was … different than it had been before.” Her eyes met Morrigan’s imploringly, willing the sorceress to understand.

Morrigan scoffed quietly. “Well, of course it was different girl. Your life was in danger. You faced an overwhelming foe. It is only normal that the nature of your magic would alter with the changing of your state.” Looking down at the smaller woman, Morrigan saw only confusion and uncertainty in her eyes, and realization dawned suddenly on her. “Surely the Circle has taught you that your magic and your emotion are inseparable entities, that the two work in tandem at all times?”

Tazivas reached unconsciously with a small, gloved hand to push a loose strand of silver hair behind one pointed ear. “We are taught that magic must be channeled from our environment.” She paused, considering. “First Enchanter Irving told me that magic exists in all things, in the ground, within the plants and animals, in the air, and that, as mages, we are tasked with drawing it out and channeling it through ourselves, in the assistance of others.” Her sideways glance revealed Morrigan’s incredulous expression. “Is this not so?”

“Of course the Circle would teach you such a thing,” Morrigan scoffed again, yet she felt a small trill of worry at how woefully unprepared this young mage was for her task. “While it is certainly the case that magic exists around us, it is also most certainly the case that magic exists within you,” she nodded her head towards the smaller woman beside her for emphasis. “A mage is not simply a channel, girl, not simply a conduit through which magic passes. You may channel the magic around you, allow it to move through you, but in doing so it takes on your emotions, your essence, it becomes undeniably bound to who you are. Do you see?”

A small frown of concentration was etched across the elf’s face. “I … believe so. But if what you say is true,” she continued, meeting the eyes of the sorceress imploringly, “how do I control it? How do I make sure that my … that my fear does not become part of my magic?”

Morrigan barked a dry laugh at that, shaking her head at the mage’s naivete. “There is no way to separate the two. Your magic becomes your emotion, and your emotions feed your magic and make it stronger. Why would you want to hide from your power, to weaken your magic in this way?”

“I am…” Tazivas chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip for a moment. There was no avoiding it, she would have to tell the sorceress the truth. “I am afraid of hurting someone, afraid of hurting … Alistair.” In her embarrassment, she allowed her words to trail off. She felt the familiar sting of a blush on her neck but shook her head, forcing it away. It was too important to learn what this woman might teach her. She was surprised at the softness in Morrigan’s face when she met the taller woman’s eyes again.

“You are so gentle,” Morrigan sighed, exhasperated. “If you do not wish to hurt another with your power, you must learn not to shy away from your emotions. You must learn to acknowledge them, embrace them, allow them to become an integrated part of your whole. Only then will you truly be able to control your magic.”

Tazivas considered this quietly, and the two walked in thoughtful silence for some time. It was Morrigan who broke their silence this time. “You have been taught electricity, yes?” Tazivas nodded affirmation. “As I thought,” Morrigan continued. “Electricity is readily available in the air around us,” she motioned sweepingly with one elegant arm, “and it fuses naturally with raw emotion. Electricity is powerful, though not so violent and vengeful as fire, for instance. It is sensible then, I admit, that the Circle would begin by teaching their apprentices to channel electricity, as the young are so bound in their emotions, so afire with confusion and feeling.” She flickered her head towards the mage. “Even you are bound in emotion, though you would try to deny it.” The elf frowned slightly but did not protest Morrigan’s observation. “Perhaps,” Morrigan continued, “it may be prudent to teach you frost magic as well.”

“Frost?” Tazivas asked, intrigued. First Enchanter Irving had told her that frost was quite advanced.

“Frost is more, shall we say, deliberate,” Morrigan explained. “It requires more careful concentration, for the caster to be at one with their mind as well as their emotions.” The sorceress looked pointedly down at the mage. “You are a watcher, little elf.” Tazivas started at the use of the term, elf, usually thrown upon her in derision, but from Morrigan it was simply a statement of fact. “You observe much, you speak little, and you do not allow yourself to be ruled by emotion, no matter how it might benefit your magic to do so.” Again, the mage frowned at the astuteness of Morrigan’s observation, but did not argue. “To master frost, you must unite your mind and your emotions, allow the two to work in tandem. Perhaps doing so would be, productive shall we say?” Morrigan smirked knowingly at her companion.

“And you would … you would teach me frost magic?” Tazivas asked tentatively.

“I am no instructor, girl, but your task is an important one, and my mother has directed that I assist you in any way I can. So yes, I will attempt,” Morrigan paused to emphasize the word, “to teach you frost magic. In return, however, you must attune to your emotions. You must reflect upon what drives you, what you care for, and who you are.” The sorceress quirked one eyebrow. “Does this sound agreeable to you?”

The small elf felt a trill of trepidation at the prospect. Separating herself from her emotions, detaching her mind from the intensity of feeling, had been a matter of self-preservation during her time in the Tower, and it had kept her alive until this point. However, as Morrigan had stated, her task was an important one, and an undeniable part of herself longed to be whole, to unite her body with her heart once again. “Yes,” she said determinedly, “when shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some meditation on the nature of magic in this universe, how it might work. Also head cannon to help explain how the Warden learns new spells as the game progresses.


	6. An Instance of Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tazi inadvertently discovers her ability to heal with magic and uses it on Alistair when they are attacked by Darkspawn.

Lothering had been miserable. The townsfolk milled around, on edge, and their terror choked the air of the town, so thick that Tazi had been able to taste it on her tongue and feel it closing in about her. Suffice to say that she was relieved to depart the place, though she was pleased to do so in the company of the Qunari warrior, Sten, who now plodded behind her, having sworn to aid the remaining Grey Wardens in their plight against the impending Blight. The large man towered above her, nearly double her height, and spoke very little, though this bothered her less than it did Alistair, who shifted in discomfort whenever Sten’s eyes came to rest on him. She could tell her companion – her friend, she thought amiably of Alistair, allowing a now familiar warmth to settle in her belly at the thought of him – did not trust the Qunari, had seen him bristle in warning when the huge man had approached her to ask what she intended to do about the Blight. Tazi knew that her answers had been unsatisfactory to the Qunari, and she felt mildly helpless in the face of his disappointment. Still, he had decided to remain with their small party, and she was glad of his support. While she had yet to see the Qunari man fight, Tazi did not doubt that he would be formidable in battle.

From Lothering, the four companions and Reginold the hound set out for Redcliffe Village in hopes that they might bring Arl Eamon over to their cause. Tazi could all but sense the anxiety rolling in waves off Alistair’s shoulders as he walked, as he so often did now, closely beside her. She could feel the heat of his body in his nearness, radiating through the metal of his armor in the sun of the afternoon. He was a bastard, he had confessed to her the previous night, as they had sat companionably next to the fire, seeking reprieve from their shared nightmares while the others in their party slept. The Arl Eamon had raised him, cared for him, and Alistair had confessed to her that he was afraid there might be truth to the rumors of the Arl’s illness. Sitting next to her in his breaches and linen shirt, Alistair had run a hand distractedly through his hair, and Tazi had marveled at the sight of him, golden and strong in the flickering fire light. He spoke so easily to her now, so sincerely, and she cherished the quiet trust that had formed between them. Even still, she admitted to herself that she often longed to hold him, as she had the on night they had mourned Duncan together, seeking comfort in the arms of the other. 

When she closed her eyes to dwell in the memory, her breath hitched slightly as she recalled the sensation of his arms around her waist, his large palm flat against her back through the ragged blanket on her shoulders, and the skin of his neck and shoulder bare against her cheek, wet with her tears. She imagined what it might feel like to have him stroke her back, her hair, with those large, calloused hands, and her breath hitched again. Certain of the blush climbing her throat, Tazi was relieved that Alistair’s attention appeared to be focused inward, rather than on her. She reached self-consciously to smooth her hair with her hands. 

Still, the nagging voice of self-doubt asserted itself, unwelcome, in her mind. She was a mage, an elven mage no less, homely, pointed, and small, and he, beautiful and golden, had trained as a Templar. Surely he could not feel toward her the way she did for him? The cruel voice reminded her, sneeringly, that she, too, was at fault for any distance between them; it had been she who had pulled away from him that night, frightened by the force of her own emotions and unwilling to allow them to continue, to risk his rejection. While she had no doubt that Alistair had come to trust her, personally, he still carried within him a deep-seated mistrust in the arcane arts, and his treatment of Morrigan remained distinctly uncharitable. When Tazi had confessed to Alistair that the sorceress had offered to teach her frost magic, and that she was pleased at the prospect, he had flinched and closed himself off from her, mumbling only that he trusted her to do what she thought was best, before turning away. His dismissal had pained her, and the two had spoken very little as they moved through Lothering that day, offering what aid they could to the people there. Still, he had found her at the fire that night, soft and apologetic, and their friendship had tentatively endured.

Tazi’s contemplation was interrupted suddenly when both Alistair and Reginold froze, the former reaching to unsheathe his sword in one swift, practiced motion. “Darkspawn,” he ground through his teeth. While she could not yet sense them as he could, Tazi trusted Alistair’s Warden instincts, and reached immediately for the wooden staff at her back. She fell into position behind the warrior, noting with grim satisfaction as she did that Sten had moved up, battle maul in both hands, to stand next to Alistair, while Morrigan had also stepped up, her own staff in hand, to stand next to the elf. At Tazi’s right hip, Reginold growled menacingly. The companions waited, poised.

Ear-piercing shrieks and growls broke the silent tension of the air around them and a squad of hurlocks broke through the trees on their right. Tazi observed abstractly that there were only about a dozen of the creatures - no more than a scouting party, she thought - yet her stomach clenched in response to the fear that was more familiar to her already than she would have liked. As though reading her thoughts, Morrigan shouted to her over the din of the commencing battle, “Do not shy away from your fear! Let it move through you with the magic! Let it become your magic!”

Breathing deeply, Tazi reached one small hand into the air and felt for the power there, the electricity crackling around her, through her fingers, down her spine, and out the ends of her silver hair, which now stood on end. Willing it to blend with the fear she felt in her belly, with the anger and exhaustion that weighted her shoulders endlessly, Tazi reached her staff into the air and directed the bolt that shot from it at the nearest darkspawn. The thing roared, stumbled, and fell to its knees. She was aware of herself shouting wordlessly as she shot another spark of furious, icy blue lightening from her wooden staff towards the monster, and it growled desperately before falling into the dirt, dead.

Alistair’s shout brought her back to herself, and she turned just in time to see her companion take a glancing blade to the shoulder from a hurlock that had managed to scramble behind him, while another hacked at his armored stomach with a short blade. Several deceased creatures lay at his feet, but he and Sten were slowly being pushed back. New fear surged through Tazi as she cried out, “Alistair, behind you!” and a surge of warmth and static, different in sensation from the cold sting of her electric magic in its pleasant, humming buzz, rolled through her and out the end of her staff. For a moment, her head spun, and she swore she could feel Alistair’s own confusion laced with her own. Alistair started, stiffening momentarily, before moving quickly into a sudden, graceful spin that dispatched both offending hurlocks with a single, powerful swing. Tazi gasped as she felt the powerful movements of his limbs surge through her own, and she revelled momentarily in the experience of his strength coursing through her body. Next to him, Reginold and Sten slew the remaining two monsters, and Tazi’s heavy breath began to slow as the battle subsided. She turned to her right to find Morrigan considering her with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing smile.

Tazi met Alistair’s eyes questioningly, but found her confusion mirrored in his gaze as he moved uncertainly toward her. “What… what was that?” Alistair breathed as he came to stand before her. She was relieved to see that he appeared unharmed, that he was moving easily in his armor.

The elf shook her head in uncertainty, turning again to Morrigan in hopes that the older sorceress might be able to explain what had occurred between them. 

“Congratulations little elf,” Morrigan said dryly, “you have just produced healing magic.” 

“Healing magic?” Tazi repeated, surprised. Her pale eyes widened as she looked questioningly between Morrigan and Alistair. “But… how?”

Morrigan’s knowing smile irked the small mage more than she cared to admit. “To heal another,” the sorceress explained, “you must channel your, affection shall we say, for that person through your magic. In doing so, you produce a magical bond between yourself and the other that strengthens and heals.” Morrigan cocked her eyebrow at Tazi teasingly. “The Templar has now known the magical manifestation of your affection for him. How endearing indeed.”

Tazi’s painful blush climbed unbidden to the very tips of her ears as she turned again to meet Alistair’s gaze. She was surprised and considerably relieved to see that a blush to match her own had spread across his face. After a moment of uncertain silence between them, Alistair cleared his throat and opened his hands, palms up, in a physical expression of acceptance. “I suppose I owe you my thanks then,” he murmured warmly, unable to hide the small smile of pleasure that accompanied his words, hoping that he might ease the uncertain tension that had sprung once more, unbidden, between them.

“I… you are welcome,” Tazi breathed, still blushing, though reassured at his acceptance of her magical favor. She had almost expected him to spurn her then, to reject her use of magic upon his person, yet still he stood close, smiling at her gently. Aware of Morrigan’s amused eyes on her face, the elf squared her shoulders and turned back to the road before them. She was relieved to find that, while Sten also regarded her, there was no trace of amusement or judgment in his face. The Qunari appeared to simply await her command, and the knowledge of this spurred her to action in spite of her embarrassment. “We must continue if we are to reach Redcliffe by tomorrow,” she said firmly, willing her voice not to waver. She was relieved when her companions each nodded and fell into step around her, and they continued on their path, each quiet in their own contemplation.


End file.
